“Beautiful.”
“I can’t live with the guilt.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” He reached and took my hand.
“Fault’s got nothing to do with it. It’s guilt.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The guilt is in being alive. I’m alive, she’s not. That’s what’s impossible to accept: life goes on.”
“It’s true, though, Anna. Life does go on.”
“Yes, life goes on and no it doesn’t. I have these dreams,” I said. “I only see her in my mind when I’m asleep. But in the dreams she always appears to me dead, not alive. I’m in a hospital room, or my bedroom, or sometimes in an open field, grass and trees, not unlike this, always surrounded by death. I just want to see her face as it was when she was alive, not the ghost that appears to me. Tell me how can life go on when that’s what I see at night?”
Chris,
